Warning Sign!!!

I drove down to see Reidksi last Friday. Down the M1 I went, enjoying the fact that there was not so much traffic as usual and no hold ups when "Oh shit!" A warning sign popped on. I had never seen such a sign before. It was a little icon showing a car with a spanner down the middle of it. my first reaction when ever a warning sign comes on in a car is to hope it goes away. Happily, having met Reidski and driving round London over the next 24 hours the warning sign did not come on again. Excellent. Except that as soon as I was back on the M1 headed home up it popped once again.

I decided it must be speed related. As Reidski and I are heading for Cornwall next week I knew I had to get this thing checked out. I rang my garage, described my warning sign, and the old guy who owns the local garage ummed and arrhhed,and directed me to a mate of his who is the proud owner of a diagnostic tool that was he explained the only thing that could accurately ascertain the source of my problem. (I didn't ask for further details on his tool, it hardly seemed polite.) Anyway, I find this guy in the middle of a forest (which made me even more anxious about this tool of his), but he produced his diagnostic tool and very high tec it was too. Like a little hand held computer with which he could diagnose the source of my engine trouble. He checked for this, he checked for that, he checked for the other but he didn't get any of that I can assure you, and then he asked me when I last put any oil in the car.

So it transpired that I was not in need of any high tec diagnostic tool, but I was in need of oil on account of there was not a drop to be found in my engine. I was like five minutes away from a £2,000 replacement engine job.

"Why" I demanded in my anxiety to divert attention away from the fact that I had been a very stupid cow "didn't the oil warning sign come on instead of that car and spanner one?" "Ahh" he replied "If the oil warning light comes on, it is too late - that would mean your engine is knackered."

Note to self - car engines need oil.

Mike Reid

I am sorry that Mike Reid has died. When my parents had a hotel in Skegness it was way before East Enders, he was still doing end of the pier comedy shows and he would stay at our place. He used to say he had never known a family with such good looking women as ours contained. As my dad pointed out though, Mike Reid was a comedian.

Get fit in ten minutes (or your money back????) One would hope so at those prices.

The future has just arrived at my gym. They have installed Power Plates and the good news is that we can all...


Get the perfect, healthy body for summer at the touch of a button, with the good vibrations of the award-winning Power Plate Next Generation. (I see at John Lewis you get a free one year’s guarantee thrown in with your purchase costing £6,995 – that’s good isn’t it? )

So it has come to this. We are all so busy, but all also so anxious to keep in shape – that for a mere 10 minutes, three times a week, we can have – ‘At the touch of a button’ the perfect healthy body we all crave. This is most definitely the invention for our times.

My grandmother didn’t need to work out to keep her muscles toned – wringing out the washing on a mangle would have seen to that on its own, never mind the hoeing and digging involved in growing all her own vegetables. Granddad's manual work kept him in shape. My mum didn’t need a gym to keep fit – like her parents before her she walked or cycled everywhere.

When I was a child I was always active – out all day over the fields and far away, or swimming, or competing in epic fifteen set matches of tennis played against the house wall, or playing French skipping with ropes out of elastic bands....it did probably help that children’s TV was only on for an hour a day. As a teenager though the rot set in as I was forced to take part in games lessons that I hated...gymnastics, hockey, athletics and worst of all - cross country running - rather than netball, dancing or rounders which I had always enjoyed. I started missing games lessons and by the time an aerobics class started up in my village I did not even possess a pair of trainers having done no exercise for something like 15 years.

Neighbours from both sides of my house were determined I was going to go with them to that first aerobics class. I didn’t even know what aerobics involved and had to be frog marched down to the village hall, but no one was more shocked than I was to find out that not only did I really enjoy it, but I was good at it too. It was totally undeserved, but it seemed I was fit and liked exercising. This led me to make a new discovery. Whilst I was not looking these things called leisure centres had sprung up, and people were paying good money to use gym facilities. Before long, I became one of them. These were obviously the answer to the increasing sedentary life style we had all been busy adopting – labour saving household devices, massive supermarkets which meant we no longer had to grow our own vegetables, desk bound jobs, and cars which took us everywhere, even when it would often be almost as quick to walk. So they had to invent cycling machines, treadmills, steppers etc to basically do for us what previous generations were doing naturally every day of their lives. Oh yes, and as we no longer carried heavy shopping bags any further than from the trolley to the car boot - they invented machines with weights attached for us.

Now though, it seems we are so pushed for time that we need to tone up faster, and we are so lazy we want to do it the easy way and yes, I will be trying the Power Plates for size with that promise of perfection at the touch of a button. It does actually say in the publicity material that "You don't even need to exert yourself." I do wonder though what other aspect of our lives is due for the invention of a machine to give us instant pleasurable results. Maybe the future as portrayed in Woody Allen's The Sleeper is not so far away after all, but do you know, I quite like my sex life as it is without the undoubted convenience of the orgasmatron.

Poor cow

Shambo I mean.

I feel a renewed admiration for Nicky Campbell this morning having just heard him on the radio managing to ask of a representative of the Hindu Forum "Is it possible that Shambo will be reincarnated as a human being sometime soon?" with what sounded like a genuinely kept straight 'voice', and for managing not to splutter Paxman like when the spokesperson assured we listeners that was "Perfectly possible."

Still think there was something rather touching though about the battle (if pacifists can 'do' battles) to save Shambo.

Anyone else remember

this prediction?

In which I was inconvenienced.

I like to think of myself as quite a tolerant sort. 'Each to their own' could have been a saying especially designed for me, but maybe, just maybe, one needs to add the rider - 'So long as they don't inconvenience me.'

For I am ashamed to admit I have developed a little obsession that grew exponentially on the five occasions in two days I found myself stuck in traffic jams nose to tail with these anti-social, inconsiderate menaces to society. I refer of course, to Land Rover Enthusiasts.

Now, pre this weekend (PTW for short) I would have said that if 50,000 Land Rover Enthusiasts wanted to club together and look at Land Rovers, then OK - bit tragic - but c'est le vie. HOW SO EVER, when they chose to assemble for this, which is accessible only by a narrow country road down which it is necessary for me to travel for numerous reasons, and when there are so many attempting to get through the ONE gate into the place and therefore succeeding in bringing gridlock for at least five miles in every direction then I get - ever so slightly - WOUND UP!!!!.

So obsessive have I become due to the length of time spent in too close proximity with Land Rovers due to the traffic jams I kept getting stuck in, that I looked at the link in an attempt to better understand this strange alien subject - The Land Rover Enthusiast.

What kind of a person is excited by wandering around a vast camp site looking at Land Rover after Land Rover?

According to the show web site: Land Rover shows should be all about Land Rovers, so at Billing 2007 you’ll find an arena packed with Land Rovers of all shapes and sizes. Well for a start off, you don't need to pay good money to see all those - I saw them for free - stuck in the same sodding traffic jams as all of the bloody things.


Many Land Rover fans had their first off-road experience at Billing, but no matter how experienced you are the Billing course is always a pleasure and a thrill. If you click the 'Off road' link there are pictures of Land Rovers driving into muddy water. This it transpires, is a major treat for Land Rover Enthusiasts - but I thought they all did that kind of thing all the time anyway because as every 4 wheel driver insists "But I live in the country - I NEED my gas guzzling carbon unfriendly 4 X 4." Surely it isn't really the case that most Land Rover owners live in - whisper it - the town???

But then i saw this, and ha ha, they are complaining the event was hit by the weather and two Land Rovers were damaged. I quote from a contributor called Big Drinks as I could not put it any better -

Bigdrinks
Jul 23 2006, 07:32 AM
So, Land Rovers are great, but dont take them out if it gets a bit wet & windy!

I'll leave the last words on the subject though to Reidski who heard more than enough complaints from me this weekend about Land Rover Enthusiasts for the hatred to rub off on him. He also saw the web site and sent the following to me....


“displays and demonstrations to appeal to Land Rover fans of all kinds.” – you fucking what? Surely, Land Rover “fans” come just in one kind – sad fucking wankers!

A most unusual sight this morning.

In two respects.
1) My sons were both awake on a Saturday at 7.00 am and
2) They were both reading.

Yes, this household has two copies of the new Harry Potter book.

Now I have issued very strict instructions that anyone who tells me who dies is going to have birthdays and Christmas's cancelled for the next several years. This has not discouraged them from calling to each other whenever I am in earshot "Oh no! Not Hermione!!" or "How will they ever manage to dig a grave big enough for Hagrid?"

But how do I avoid finding out before I read it myself?

I feel like Bob and Terry in the episode of the Likely Lads where they try to avoid hearing the score of England's football match with Bulgaria. Everyone but everyone will know soon. I even saw an old bloke of at least 80 in Tescos reading the last few pages. I dare not look at certain blogs until I have had a chance to read the book as they are sure to be talking about the outcomes by now, but it is odds on I will catch something on the tele or radio. I really can't go into hibernation for a few days (although with the weather as it is that is actually a very tempting prospect).

I read the first book in 1997. I keep seeing that hardback copies of that book are worth money now - though I somehow doubt if our much read copy is worth bugger all. It is just a shame that other children's books are n't worth money as believe me, in spite of my best efforts in which I regularly purchase recommended reads for children and young people, the vast majority of those remain resolutely in mint condition.

I remember that the first night after I had picked it up I had an ace dream in which I was a wizard. No wonder kids love them so much.

Four hundred million copies Harry Potter books sold worldwide before today. I guess it isn't just my family that love them then?

Yesterday

the man I love very much and those closest to him were due to go and celebrate the lives of the two people killed in a car accident on 7th July. 'Celebrate' because in spite of the dreadful loss of life, there was much to celebrate. Both of them were brilliant academics whose work both saved and created life. They had lived long and fulfilling lives. More than that to Reidski and his family they were the truest of friends - simply lovely people.

Only Reidksi and those closest to him did not make the celebration. Unbelievably, and with a cruelty of timing that defies belief, they have instead been plunged into mourning for someone far closer than the two they have just lost, killed yesterday in a terrible accident, witnessed by three of the guy's closest friends.

This man, in the prime of his life, married less than 6 weeks ago, and precious to so many is gone.

I am at a total and utter loss to find the words to express how dreadfully dreadfully sorry I am. It is tragedy on the scale that you think 'How do people ever start to come to terms with that?' I don't even know if it is the right thing to do to refer to it here, but how can I press on with my normal brand of trivia without acknowledging that actually this awful, in the truest sense of that word, thing has happened.


We have all to ensure the people we love always know how much we love them, how special they are to us. One day, inexplicably and with no warning anyone can be snatched away from us. I know I hugged my children twice as tightly before they left for school this morning.

I accept.

I have been handed an award by Yorkshire Pudding. It seems I am a mature blogger.

Along with other recipients of this award like Muddy Boots and Mopsawho like me are pretending to themselves that they are just mere slip of girls I haven't known quite what to make of this.

I looked up 'Mature' on Google and the number one on their list is Mature Sex Pics, Free Porn. For a fleeting moment I had a glimmer of hope that therefore 'mature' equals sexy but a rather foolish click on that link soon removed that illusion. "Chubby granny fucked hard"????? Oh my god!!!! (Must remember to remove history and clear cookies before work.)

So I tried Wikipedia and they tell me "Mature can refer to the following meanings;

* Sexual maturity
* Mature is a character in the King of Fighters video game series.
* Mature 17+, a rating in the ESRB rating system"


This makes me think I must be totally past it rather than just mature as I had never heard of King of Fighters video game series, and I didn't know ESRB ratings existed, but presumably no self respecting 11 year old game player would be seen dead playing a computer game that did not have a Mature 17+ rating. But I see that 'Sexual' has come into again except that makes little sense either as who in their right mind would mistake a hormonally challenged teenager for a mature individual?

YP says to be mature you need to start every other sentence with the words '"When I was young" but I have actually deliberately blocked that line as the last thing I want to think about when talking to my kids is what I was actually up to at their age. Please god they don't behave that way too which leads neatly on to YP's stipulation that we mature bloggers pray every day. Does blaspheming count? Ah yes, and the third stipulation to qualify for this award so that we drink alcohol in moderation and to that I can firmly agree that I personify that rule for mature bloggers.

Except for last Saturday night.
Oh, and Friday.
Don't mention the Friday before that at Reidski's.
Thinking about it last night when he came up to see me was a bit on the excessive side. As was the previous Thursday.

Apart from all that I think it is totally true that I drink in moderation and therefore can accept in all good conscience, the award for Mature Blogger with a few spontaneous words....

"“ My dear colleagues, I thank you very much for this tribute to my work. I think that Reidski, and I have done the best work of our lives and I think this is in part due to our director, Yorkshire Pudding. [Audience applause.]

And I also think it's in part because we believed and we believe in what we were expressing--two out of millions who gave their lives and were prepared to sacrifice everything in the fight against fascist and racist Nazi Germany.

And I salute you, and I pay tribute to you, and I think you should be very proud that in the last few weeks you've stood firm, and you have refused to be intimidated by the threats of a small bunch of Zionist hoodlums [gasps from the audience, followed by a smattering of boos and clapping] whose behavior is an insult to the stature of Jews all over the world and their great and heroic record of struggle against fascism and oppression.

And I salute that record and I salute all of you for having stood firm and dealt a final blow against that period when Nixon and McCarthy launched a worldwide witch-hunt against those who tried to express in their lives and their work the truth that they believe in [some boos and hissing]. I salute you and I thank you and I pledge to you that I will continue to fight against anti-Semitism and fascism.
"

Whaddaya mean 'Too Much'????

And now I am off to buy my tickets for the new Harry Potter film.

Parental Advisory.

Thanks to Rob I know now that my blog comes with a warning to parents. This is apparently down to my mentioning hell on three occasions and killing on one.

-

.

Reidski gets the highest warning with an R. That it seeems is the risk you take when you post links to a large pussy* so fans such as myself of Mr Tiddles who used to live in the ladies loo at Paddington Station should be cautious with their descriptions.

* Though to be fair - prodigious use of the word 'Fuck' may also have contributed to his Adult Only rating.

Will people please stop

throwing themselves in the direction of my car.

Last week Reidski and I were in my car headed for Waterloo Bridge and at the IMAX roundabout. It had - not for the first time in recent weeks - been raining. There were road signs up and Reidski read one out loud - "Anti - skid work." Now literally just as those words left his mouth a motorcyclist came round the roundabout presumably fully intending to drive past us in the opposite direction, but what he did instead was skid, come off his bike, and his bike slid to a halt no more than three inches from my car. I was frozen for a moment with fear and horror. I just did not dare look and had to gather all my courage to get out the car whilst trying to remember back to my St John's Ambulance training course. Thankfully however, once he had had the bike picked up off of him the guy was fine. His legacy for me though has been that I am terrified everytime a motor cyclist comes close to me. That was bad enough.

On Tuesday I was driving into the railway carpark. I was just turning in and there was a white van in the other lane right next to me. From behind that van emerged a woman who walked right into the front of my car. Here my memory kind of plays tricks. I am certain I did actually hit her as I felt it. I don't know how fast I was going - not very thank god - but I know I slammed my brakes on to come to a stop. There was then a totally embarrassing scene in which she practically begged on bended (broken maybe?) knee for my forgiveness, whilst all I could manage was an incoherent ramble along the lines of "OHMIGODTHANKCHRISTYOUAREALRIGHT." She was saying her mother had just died and she was 'miles away', just not thinking what she was doing, totally her fault etc etc, and could she buy me a coffee? "Coffee??!!!???" Bloody hell, I needed a double brandy at the very least and was on the verge of starting smoking for the first time in my life (No, I wasn't quite that bad!) So by the end of this scene it was me who was having to assure her that I was perfectly alright thank you, although she was the one who had leaped in front of my car. I should probably add that she insisted she was not hurt at all.

So now I am terrified of pedestrians too.

Nothing close to either of these two incidents has ever happened to me before in all the years I have been driving. Yes, I know I wrote my own car off earlier this year but that was (much as I hate to admit it) totally my fault. But now I have become a bag of driving nerves.


If my son passes the driving test he makes his second attempt at later today my driving nerves will be totally shredded, but to look on the bright side, at least it will mean I will stop worrying about myself.

Just suppose

you are a parent of 10 year old child with 2 years left to go in primary school. Your child is guaranteed a trip on a residential week either in the current academic year or the following year. Your child MAY be fortunate enough to get a place on both trips, but due to numbers of children involved, they are guaranteed one visit.

So as the parent of this imaginary child, you are told that places are restricted for visit number one. The very strict system for ensuring that every applicant has an absolutely equal chance of being selected is fully explained. And you are asked to accept that if you make an application for your child to go on the first trip, your child may not be successful, but will therefore be guaranteed a place on the trip the following year.

You proceed to apply for a place for your child, but hers is not one of the 44 numbers drawn from a hat.

Do you either a) Explain to your daughter that you are very sorry she will miss out this time and not go to Wales, but "Don't worry darling, you have a trip to the Isle of Wight to look forward to next year" or b) Attempt to have the entire trip cancelled because "If my child can't go, neither can anyone else's."

One selfish git, a parent at another school in the local cluster of village schools with which I am involved has attempted to go for option b. As a chair of governor's of one of the other schools who participate in the residential (the provision of which by us OFSTED has described as 'outstanding') I have been up to my eyes recently trying to save these trips in the face of his legal challenge to the fairness and equity of our residential trips.

Last night at the last in a series of meetings which have dragged on through most of the past nine months his complaint was finally and categorically dismissed.

I can only sit back and wonder just exactly how spolit the child of this particular parent must be. Her father should bear in mind the warning from Mr Dahl in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory of what can happen when we spoil our children....

Verruca Salt

She is from England. She is capricious, spoilt, stubborn, demanding, selfish and narrow-minded. She looks like a doll. Her parents give in to her every whim. She always wants more: she is never pleased. She is insolent and rude. She manipulates people in order to obtain what she wants. She is a hypocrite. She thinks she is superior to other people. She despises the others. She is scornful. In the room where the squirrels shell nuts, she absolutely wants a trained squirrel. She is desperate to get her hands on a squirrel. They attack her and consider she is a bad nut, so they push her in the garbage. She lands on thre
e weeks’ worth of rubbish.

I am somewhat put out to know that a teacher at the school my kids go to (for that I am very sorry to say is what this parent does for a living) freely admits to caring about no children but his own.

Busy afternoon

Getting everything including all the appliances off the floor and out of my kitchen and then because I hadn't done enough - pulling the vinyl floor up too. Even more amusing was when having got fridge/freezer, dishwasher and tumble dryer outside, I then had to get them back IN side as yet more torrential rain fell, because - great laugh this next bit - first thing tomorrow I will have to put them outside again.

Following the 'nearly burning the house down incident' the insurers are coughing up for a new kitchen floor but the snag is that the house holder has to clear the kitchen floor first. Bad enough for me, but how do elderly or frail people manage?

It had been a great weekend up until today. Reidski and I had a night in on Friday and ended up on You Tube for hours. Can not believe how much is on there. At one stage - fairly late in the evening - we started taking turns to play something from the first half of the 60's, then the 2nd half and so on through to the present day. Well I can tell you that we had 'These boots were made for walking' and 'Down Town' for early 60's, I know 'Virginia Plain' featured at some point, as did 'The Long and Winding Road' and 'The Story of the Blues'which for reasons related here still brings Reidski out in a cold sweat, but the truth is we got so pissed I can't remember much more at all, except that by the time we were supposed to be onto the 21st Century my brain had left the building and I couldn't think of a single solitary 21st Century sound to play. Oh dear, I was so drunk. But I do remember we had a great laugh.

The yesterday we went to see the Prologue of the Tour de France - us and a million or so other people. I loved it, and not just for the sight of the cyclists legs. This year I know I shall be trying to put doping scandals to the back of my mind and just enjoy the achievement of these phenomenal athletes. Christ I was knackered just walking round some of the prologue route yesterday - and they are off to race round France FFS.

I had to come back home late last night because I was helping at a country fair early this morning, but I really wish I had stayed because first thing today Reidksi got some truly terrible news about an accident which has killed two very special people, one of whom he only saw last Saturday. I never knew either of them but have heard so much about them I almost felt that I did. The kind of people who not only changed the world through their respective brilliant careers, but also did good, kind and generous things for others.

Yesterday we were on a bus and we went past the site where the bus was blown up exactly two years before. That made me think at the time about the arbitrariness of the fine line between being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It only takes one moment and unimaginable horror can and does happen. Too dreadful for more words I'm afraid.

trashcan sinatras - obscurity knocks

Unfortunately this song title turned out to be very appropriate - but listening to this amongst many many of their other superb tracks, why did the Trashcan Sinatras never become massively successful?

A rather unsatisfactory ten minute period in my life.

Listening to the horrific noise my washing machine was making, even I was no longer able to ignore the fact that it needed 'attention'. I rang up my usual man who takes care of these things. He and I have history going back over many years and involving assorted fridge-freezers, cookers, dishwashers as well as the washing machine - always something about to go wrong in my experience.

His son came and took it away saying something about 'bearings'. This gave me a moment of hope as they were done in December and I had a 12 month guarantee on them. It was a nice moment and I made the most of it. The moment was soon dashed.

My phone rang. It was my man. NOT the bearings. Not the motor. Not anything else that my man had ever seen in 43 years of fixing washing machines either. It turns out that the concrete I was only subliminally aware was underneath every washing machine drum had come off. My man seemed quite surprised. I was quite distraught. From visions of getting it fixed for free to the reality of paying out for a new washing machine. Bugger.

Following this conversation I wandered into the kitchen at work feeling depressed and broke. There was one chocolate brownie in there. It kind of had my name on it. I tried to ignore it but it was calling out to me. I had a tiny bit off the edge to satisfy my craving. This only served to intensive my craving. I decided that in view of my washing machine angst I deserved to finish off the chocolate brownie. I made a cup of tea to accompany the chocolate brownie which I had successfully convinced myself I should have. I picked up the chocolate brownie, and promptly dropped the bloody thing on a quite exceptionally dirty floor. Me and the chocolate brownie was not to be. Bugger again.

With a bit of sight seeing thrown in

Joe made a fair point after my previous post - but yes, we did manage to see some of Edinburgh in between pub visits.

Saturday was spent at Meadowbank Stadium, me watching a game of football and erh, Reidski pretty much watching a game of football stuck as he was in the role of lone striker whilst a group of semi-professional footballers ran rings around his side's 'defence', several of whom had to keep coming off for a fag. Loyalty forbids that I mention the final score. In the evening we had a meal on Grassmarket with amongst others also in Edinburgh when we were, Messalina- on the 5th floor of a hotel overlooking the castle.

Sunday started with the two of us getting absolutely drenched and then got better. We went to the National Museum. Then we saw Greyfriars Bobby (so sweet!), and walked up to the castle along part of the Royal Mile, obviously fitting in some of those pubs along the way and seeing beautiful streets like this one.



On Monday we managed the Scottish Parliament, Calton Hill, this cemetery -

.

We went in Jenners, then walked through Rose Street, saw some of the New Town and found out we couldn't get into what looked like green parks but turned out to be private gardens for residents only. Then we had a bit of a walk along the waters of Leith. How about here for a nice spot to eat?



That night we went out with Messalina for a great pizza here.

Tuesday we checked out Arthur's Seat (no smutty remarks from the back please), and had another last wander round the bridges and Princes Gardens before reluctantly taking our leave of Edinburgh.

Looking back - no wonder we were knackered!

A Bit of a Pub Crawl

I am fussy about pubs. I grew up in them as my parents were publicans. They need to be cared for, offer well kept ales and I prefer them if they are not hell bent on serving food at the expense of local drinkers. No matter how beautiful they may be, if the landlords are not welcoming then it is a Crap Pub. My parents had a pub in the village where I live for 15 years until they retired. It was then the absolute hub of village life. My dad had the knack of remembering everyone's name and favourite drink after just one visit. My mum looked after everyone like they were family. Since they left in a period of not much more than 7 years there have been no fewer than six different sets of landlords come and go; four of them just awful; why the hell people who do not appear to like other people wind up running a pub is one of the mysteries of my life. Two of them were good but had to leave because as soon as they started to get successful the brewery who owns the pub got greedy and priced them out with outrageous rent demands. Whilst the four awful landlords were there it was a Crap Pub, and during the reign of the other two it was a Great Pub. We are fairly hopeful the latest arrival will be a success. He does at least smile when one goes in the place which is nice but apparently more difficult to accomplish than one might suppose.

Anyway, stop waffling on Jane. Thing is, when I go anywhere new I like to do a bit of research first on my favourite subject - good pubs - and I went to Edinburgh armed with a list of pubs I would really like to visit, and the Girl Jane Done Good, with the able and willing assistance of Reidski, and managed to get to the following pubs in the space of three days (actually two as the first day there was taken up with pre-planned social events).

If you only click on one link make it the one for the beautiful Cafe Royal, but none of the pubs visited disappointed. Many more reasons to love Edinburgh!

The Cafe Royal.

The Guildford Arms.

The Abbotsford

Bannermansbar.

Bow Bar.

Doric Bar.

Halfway House.

The Jolly Judge.

The Mitre.

Kay's Bar.

The Oxford (Failed to spot Rebus but I am sure every bloke round the bar was a policeman.)

How's this

for a stupid e-mail message I have just received from my anti virus people?


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